His eyes sparkled. “Mmm, and if I’m unwilling to wait that long?”
She tipped her head to the returning maid. “I think you must, Mr. Di Navarra. Your wine has arrived.”
“Ah, but wine is portable,” he said with a wink.
* * *
Drago was gone the next morning when Holly woke, off to Rome to tend to his business. She lay in the bed alone and thought about everything that had happened these past few weeks. She was happier than she’d have ever thought she could be, and she was frightened, too.
Drago did not talk about the future. Not ever. She had no idea what she meant to him, if anything. Oh, sure, they were lovers and she was the mother of his child—but what did that mean to him, beyond the here and now? He seemed to need her as much as she needed him—but he never said any tender words, never talked about what the future might hold for them.
She was under contract for a year, but only if the test shots went well. So far, there had been no test shots. There had been no shoot. Drago said it took time to do what he wanted and not to worry, but she worried nevertheless.
He did things like ask her about Gran and express his sorrow for her loss, and she wondered endlessly if that meant he felt something. Or if he was just being polite.
Yesterday, he’d said he’d needed more information about Colette. But once they’d been alone, perfume had been the furthest thing from his mind. He’d stripped her naked and made her mindless with pleasure. But when it was over, when they were sated and lying together in the bed, he’d pulled her close and fallen asleep. He’d not asked her one question about her fragrance.
She’d told herself it was ridiculous to be disappointed, especially after the way he’d held her and caressed her and wrung every drop of pleasure from her body, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be taken seriously, and Drago only wanted to use her body.
Not that she minded that part. But she wanted more. She wanted to know he thought about more than having sex with her. And she wanted to know what would happen when the campaign was over. Or if he didn’t like the test shots and it never began.
He had to know she’d meant what she said about not giving up Nicky. But he had so much money and power. Did he really care what she said? He could fight her for custody. He might even win.
Holly’s heart squeezed tight. She couldn’t let that happen.
She flung the covers back and went to take a shower. After, she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and went to find Sylvia and Nicky. They were in the garden, and Holly went to join them, her heart swelling with love for her baby. He sat on a blanket in the shade, playing with his toys, while Sylvia read a book. When he saw her coming, he threw the toy and began babbling excitedly. His little arms stretched up to her, and Holly bent to pick him up.
“Hello, precious,” she said, sticking her nose against his neck and breathing in his soft baby scent.
She greeted Sylvia warmly, though she was still wary of having anyone else take care of her son. It felt as if he wasn’t hers as much, and she knew that was silly, but since Gran had died, she’d been so alone in the world with no other family. She had Gabi, of course, but Gabi didn’t share DNA with her. This little guy, however, had become her world. She couldn’t lose him. Not ever.
Holly spent the rest of the morning with Nicky and Sylvia, and then she put Nicky down for his nap and went to the room set up with her supplies. She had an idea for something new that she wanted to play with. When she’d been sitting in the grass earlier, the scent of sun-warmed cherries had seemed to waft over her from nowhere. They combined with the scent of the grapes in the arbor and the grass and soil beneath her to make her think of summer afternoons. It didn’t mean she would get anything out of combining essences, but it was fun to play.
And it kept her mind occupied.
Sometime during the afternoon, there was a knock at her door. Her heart skipped when she thought it might be Drago, but then she realized he usually strode in without knocking.
“Yes,” she called, and a maid opened the door.
“Signorina,” she said, “there is a man here to see you.”
Holly blinked. “Me? Are you certain?”
“Sí. It is Signore Lazzari, and he says he wishes to speak to you.”
She hadn’t thought about Santo Lazzari in two weeks, so to have him here now was a bit of a surprise. Still, she didn’t have any reason not to see him. He knew she was the new face of Sky, and he was one of Drago’s business associates.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said.
The maid inclined her head and left. Holly stoppered her essences, made a few quick notes and then went out to greet Santo.
* * *
Drago sat at his desk in his office in Rome and tried to concentrate on the numbers in front of him. But he couldn’t seem to focus. He kept coming back to Holly, to the way she clung to him, the way she felt beneath him when their bodies were joined, the way he felt inside when he was with her.
She made him want to be a better man. She made him want to try to open his heart and trust someone. He’d never trusted anyone, not since he was little and had learned he could rely only on himself. That he was responsible for his own well-being instead of the woman who should have been taking care of him. He’d never had that freedom other kids had had, that freedom to play and have fun and not think about survival and belonging.
He’d always had to think about those things. About his place in his mother’s world, and his place in the world at large. He had always been worth a lot of money. He still was, even more so now that he was in charge of it. His money enticed people to try to use him for their own purposes, to try to chip off just a little bit for themselves.
Holly had had his child, but she hadn’t tried to get money from him. She hadn’t shown up on his doorstep, threatening him with a paternity suit, threatening him with selling her story to the tabloids if he didn’t pay up. She’d never tried to use Nicky to get anything from him.
She had kept him secret, though. And she had kept that knowledge hidden while she’d negotiated for a contract with him. She said it was because she wanted to secure her child’s future. Because she was afraid he would kick her out again.
If he were honest with himself, she’d had every reason to think he might do just that.
He had not handled her betrayal quite so well the first time. In fact, he’d reacted in a way he never did. Blindly, emotionally. He’d thrown her out instead of listening to her pitch, politely telling her “no, thanks,” and then sending her on her way.
But she’d blindsided him. Or, rather, his own feelings had blindsided him. In a single moment, Holly Craig had reminded him what it had felt like to be worth nothing as a person and everything as an entity. He’d hated her for making him feel that way.
And how did he feel now?
Drago sighed. That was the problem. He didn’t know. He only knew that since taking her to his bed, he’d felt a sense of relief and joy that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It made no sense, especially when he considered that she’d lied to him for so long—but maybe he was tired of being suspicious, tired of letting the past dictate the future.
He had a child with her, a wonderful, adorable child. And he wanted that child to have the things he hadn’t had: a stable home, a father, love. Holly loved Nicky, and he loved Nicky. Shouldn’t they work together to give their boy everything they could?
They hadn’t had the best beginning, but they could have a good future together. All he had to do was take a chance. It took him a few more hours of thinking and considering and weighing all the options, but in the end he made a decision.
He picked up the phone and started to make a few calls. When he got home tonight, he would take the first step toward the future.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EXCITEMENT BUBBLED AND popped in Holly’s veins like fine champagne poured into a crystal flute. Santo Lazzari wanted her to make perfume for House of Lazzari. He wanted to buy Colette. It was everything she’d ever dreamed, everything she’d wanted when she and Gran had been mixing their blends together—and then, after, when Gran was gone and Holly had been determined to save her home and introduce the world to Gran’s perfume.
But there was also an undercurrent of sadness in her joy. Drago. She’d wanted him to want Colette. She’d wanted him to be the one who was excited about the possibilities, who praised her for her skill and who mapped out a potential campaign that showed what he could do with her fragrance.
Except, he didn’t seem interested. Yesterday, she’d thought he finally would talk to her about it, but he’d kissed her instead. And then he’d taken her to bed and made love to her and all thoughts of perfume had flown out the window.
Now she stood in her workroom and waited for him to return from Rome. She’d told Santo she had to think about it overnight, but what she really wanted to know was how Drago felt. Did he want Colette? Or was that nothing more than a dead end?
Finally, when the shadows grew long on the tall pencil pines, she heard the whop-whop of the rotors as Drago’s helicopter returned. Her heart lodged in her throat as she went outside to greet him. He came walking up from the helipad, clad in a custom suit and handmade loafers, carrying a briefcase and looking lost in thought.
She watched him for a long moment, her breath catching at the sheer masculine beauty of him. Santo Lazzari was handsome, and he’d even flirted with her a little bit, but she’d been unmoved. When Drago walked across a room—or a lawn—she felt as if she were slowly burning up from the inside out. Every sense attuned to him. Every cell of her body ached for him.
He saw her, finally. His expression grew serious and her blood slowed to a crawl in her veins. What was he thinking?
“Holly,” he said when he drew near. And then, before she could ask him what was on his mind, he dropped the briefcase and dragged her into his arms. He kissed her thoroughly, completely, until she was boneless in his embrace.
“I have something for you,” he said when he finally lifted his head. His eyes sparked with heat and passion, and a throbbing ache set up shop in her core.
“I think I know what it is,” she said teasingly, her heart thrumming fast.
He laughed. “I doubt it.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Holly’s heart lodged in her throat. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
No one had ever given her jewelry—and certainly not something in a velvet box. She knew the size, the shape, knew what it usually meant in commercials and movies. But what did it mean here?
Her hands stayed anchored at her sides as the world spun crazily around her. “I don’t think I can.”
He stood there so tall and handsome in the golden light. She could hear birds in the trees now that the helicopter was gone again. Inside the house, she heard the clink of dishes and knew the chef was preparing dinner. Drago’s scent assailed her nostrils, along with the freshness of the evening breeze and the dampness of an approaching storm.
She felt everything so keenly, and she was afraid to move beyond this moment. Afraid it wouldn’t mean what she wanted it to mean. Afraid it would end and she’d be brokenhearted again.
“Then I will do it for you,” he said, flipping back the lid as he stood so close to her she could feel his heat enveloping her senses.
The ring wasn’t huge by billionaire standards, but it was undoubtedly bigger than anything she’d ever thought she would have. And it was unmistakably an engagement ring. The center diamond was at least three carats, and the band held more diamonds, which enhanced the center and made it sparkle all the more. She didn’t think the setting was white gold. Platinum most likely, unless there were a more rare metal she didn’t know about.
“Marry me, Holly,” he said. “We’ll make a home for Nicky, and one day he’ll inherit all of this.”
Her chest ached as tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
He looked uncertain for a moment, as if he hadn’t anticipated that answer. “Say yes.”
She wanted to. Desperately. But she couldn’t until she asked a question. He’d never given any indication of his feelings, and she needed to know. “Do you love me, Drago?”
He swallowed. “I care about you,” he said, and her heart fell slowly, so slowly, until it hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
She told herself it was silly to feel sad or disappointed. It was too soon to ask for more. He was proposing to her. Offering to make a home for Nicky, to give him a family. She knew how important that was to him. A man who’d never had a stable home life until he was nearly a teenager.
What more could she ask for right this moment? It was a start. And yet she was more hurt by his offer than cheered. She wanted more. She wanted him to feel the way she felt. She wanted him to feel as if he would burst trying to contain all these hot, bright feelings inside the shell of his skin, and she wanted him to care about the things she cared about.
She told herself this was enough, for now. But it wasn’t.
“Santo Lazzari wants to buy Colette,” she said on a whisper, because she couldn’t say the other things she was thinking. She couldn’t put her heart on the line when she was more and more certain he didn’t feel the same way.
Drago’s face changed. She watched the emotions crossing his features and knew she’d said the wrong thing. There was disbelief, hurt, loneliness and, finally, fury. He snapped the box closed and she jumped at the finality of the sound.
“And what does Lazzari have to do with this, Holly?” he gritted. “With what I am asking you right now? Are you hoping for a better offer from him?”
Shock hit her like a lightning bolt sizzling across a clear blue sky. “What? No! But you said you care about me, and this is something I care about. And you haven’t spoken of it, though I keep waiting—”
His expression grew darker, if that were possible, more thunderous. His lips curled back from his teeth and she shrank away from him. “You think mentioning Lazzari to me will make me buy your perfume?” He held up the box in his clenched fist. His knuckles were white where he gripped it so hard. “I’m offering you more than you could have ever dreamed possible—money, position, even power—and you still care about your trite little scents?”
His words stabbed into her. Trite little scents. He thought her dreams were beneath his notice. No, he thought she wanted to make perfume only so she could make money. That she was driven by ambition and greed rather than joy and love.
He didn’t really know her if he thought that. He’d spent these past few weeks with her, and he had no idea who she was. It hurt more than she’d ever thought possible.
Blindly, she turned away from him. Everything was blurry as she started across the terrace. She had to get away, or scream.
“Where are you going?” he thundered. “Holly? Holly!”
She didn’t turn around. She didn’t stop. She kept going until she was inside her room, the door locked to the outside. Until she could cry for everything she’d lost, and everything she would never have.
* * *
Drago went back to Rome. When he reached his apartment, he slammed inside and threw his briefcase on the couch. And then he took the velvet box from his trousers, where it had sat like a hard lump of marble, and wanted to howl in frustration.
He’d misjudged her again. He’d thought she wanted him, wanted this life, but she wanted him to buy her perfume and she didn’t mind using Santo Lazzari to get him to do it. And she wanted him to proclaim his love for her, as if that would make a difference somehow.
Love. Dio, what kind of fool would love her?
Drago raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t understand love. He didn’t understand how anyone could let go enough to feel love. In his mind, it was a dangerous emotion that made people unstable. When you loved someone, you gave them the keys to your soul. The means with which to destroy you.
He’d spent years loving a mother who hadn’t loved him back—or hadn’t loved him enough. It had taken him years to get over the neglect, and he was not about to open himself up for that kind of experience ever again.
Holly knew, damn her. She knew how hard this was for him, how damaged a life he’d had. She knew and she insisted on pushing him.
Santo Lazzari. Christo! It had been only a few weeks, and they hadn’t even begun the Sky shoot yet. Already she was scheming to get her perfume in front of another company. It infuriated him that she would betray him, that she would talk to Santo instead of to him.
Why hadn’t she just asked him what he thought? Why hadn’t she come to him instead of going behind his back?
The answer was obvious: because she didn’t trust him.
Hot feelings swirled inside him. He wanted to punch something. Wanted to rage and howl and ask why he wasn’t good enough for her.
He went over to the liquor cabinet and poured a shot of whiskey. His fingers shook as he poured and he stopped, stared at them. Why wasn’t he good enough for her?
That was the kind of question he’d asked as a child. It was a question for his mother, not for Holly. He set the whiskey down and stared at a window across the street, a little lower than his. A man and woman danced together, the woman smiling up at him, the man saying something that made her smile.
Holly was not his mother. And she very likely hadn’t gone to Santo. He remembered Santo escorting her onto the terrace a couple of weeks ago. Santo could have asked her about the scent she was wearing then. And she would have told him the truth.
And even if she’d pitched it herself, why should that matter to him?
The Change in Di Navarra's Plan Page 16
